


it tastes so sweet

by cersc



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Biting, Claiming, Claiming Bites, Comfort Sex, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Face-Sitting, Finger Sucking, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Light Dom/sub, Love Bites, Makeup Sex, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Power Struggle, Pre-Canon, Rough Body Play, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Scratching, Sibling Incest, Spooning, Twincest, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6300610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cersc/pseuds/cersc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short, sweet PWP standalones about the Lannister twins discovering various kinks for the first time ( from the tame to the not-so-tame ). Tags to be added as needed; the kinks explored in individual chapters will be listed in the notes, so if you aren't into something in one chapter, it will be easy-peasy to skip to the next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. so put your hands on me

**Author's Note:**

> The one with fingerbanging / make-up sex!

Cersei is angry. 

Jaime no longer remembers why; it was a silly argument, a stupid little tiff that took place late enough in the evening to see her storming off to bed alone. ’Tis all the better that Robert chose tonight to spend with a handful of his favorite whores. If his wife was forced to endure his presence, the outcome would have been an ugly one. A lioness’ rage is not to be underestimated.

Yet Jaime did apologize. It took determination and a healthy dose of swallowed pride, but the words had escaped his lips. It made little difference, though, when sweet sister pretended not to hear him. As he strides ever-so-quietly through the empty halls of the Red Keep, lit only by flickering torchlight here and there, he reflects upon the conversation, wonders if he might have said or done more. When he comes to Cersei’s door, he glances around surreptitiously, ensuring there is no one watching and wondering after his motives. 

He half-expects to find the door barred, but it creaks open under his touch; he winces at the sound and takes further steps toward silence as he slips inside ( this time, the door does get locked ). A candle on Cersei’s bedside table bathes the room in faint, warm light by which he sees her bolt upright in bed, sees the furious fire in her eyes. “What do you want?” she hisses, gaze never once parting from his own. Masses of golden curls fall o’er her shoulders, resting atop the lace of her nightdress; freshly-washed cheeks flush with irritation as she watches him; lips purse and eyes narrow so sharply he wonders if she had truly been asleep, for would it not take one longer to awaken fully?

Like this, she is beautiful. Irritating and vexatious, but beautiful.

“I want,” Jaime begins, moving ‘cross the room until he stands at the side of her bed with half a smirk upon his lips, “to cheer you up.”

Cersei scoffs and leans back against the plush pile of pillows behind her. “Really.” It comes out as a statement, not a question.

“Really.” He nods, adding further weight to the seriously-spoken word. “’Tis better for twins to be an indivisible team than two separate forces, is it not?”

For a long, long while, she simply watches him, keen eyes tracking each minuscule twitch of the fingers, blink of the eyes. Jaime shifts somewhat uncomfortably on his feet, but does not waver. He will not let her drive him away. Finally, she speaks, and it is with a frustrated sigh: “Jaime, I am tired. We shall speak about this tomorrow; for now, you should go.”

But no, no, he should not. Not until this argument is well and truly behind them. He sits upon the edge of his twin’s bed, watching for her reaction. It never comes, so he slides under the warm quilts with her and cups her body with his own. Then, she sighs; he can hear the inevitable roll of her eyes in the sound. “You don’t know when to quit,” murmurs Cersei.

“I never have.” He slips an arm over her waist, burrowing further into the cozy softness of her bed. She is warm, soft to the touch, same as always. One finger traces the floral lace of her nightdress as the other hand reaches up to pull her hair back, exposing the nape of her neck to gentle kisses. Lips move up to her earlobe; he takes it between his teeth, nipping tenderly at the skin, but hard enough to make her gasp.

Her head raises slightly, as if she’s going to turn to face him. “What are you doing?” she whispers sharply.

“Cheering you up.”

It takes some maneuvering, but Jaime gets his arm under the curve of her waist so he can pull her in close with both. That hand hitches up her nightdress and slides underneath, up the smooth expanse of her belly until he finds one of her breasts and squeezes it hard enough to elicit a reaction — in this case, her back pushing up intently against his chest. One pert nipple is pinched ‘tween thumb and forefinger, and when Cersei exhales with a breathy moan, her twin cannot keep back a victorious smirk.

His other hand moves between her thighs, finding her bare; his cock twitches in his breeches at the familiar feel of her sex. Fingers stroke nimbly until he feels her moistening. “You don’t feel angry at me,” he teases with a low chuckle.

Cersei’s hand covers his own ( or part of it, anyway; it’s endearing, really, how slender and small she is compared to him ) and slides it down, down, pressing his fingers hard against her slit. “I’ll be angrier if you stop.”

“I don’t intend to,” he murmurs into the meeting of her neck and shoulder, inhaling deep the scent of her. He slips his hand lower still, entering her first with one finger, then another, pushing his palm against her mound as he pumps in and out of her. Her body settles in against his, relaxing considerably as he moves. It’s amazing, really, how much his sister can forgive when this is the way he begs it of her.

He works until she’s slick with wetness, then crooks his fingers ever-so-slightly, searching for that spot that never fails to drive her mad with lust. He knows when he finds it. Cersei makes it impossible not to, with the way she bucks her hips into his grip and whimpers. Her body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat now, pulse pounding fast and hot. Jaime hums in satisfaction and presses another kiss into the back of her neck.

When his pace quickens, fingers driven deeper, Cersei tips her head back against his shoulder and moans. The sound is no less than delicious, but it is far too loud — Jaime is acutely aware of the danger associated with sneaking to her chambers, even with the door barred, even with the assurance that the Keep is drowsy at this hour. He shushes her soothingly and slides his free hand up to cup the side of her face. “Bite down if you must,” he murmurs, and she does almost immediately; her fingers lace through his own to bring his hand closer, and teeth sink into the side of his palm.

The pace of her breath grows faster against his hand, and he knows her peak is almost upon her. With easy, deliberate motions, he adds a third finger to those at work inside her, and pumps them in and out quicker than before. Cersei almost cries out, but his hand clamps over her mouth as she clenches around him, riding his fingers through her climax as though she’s fucking them. Jaime presses his chest up tight to her back, pulling her hard against him as she comes down in a blissful haze.

She pulls his other hand up to her mouth and sucks his fingers clean — part of him wishes she wouldn’t, since his cock is painfully hard, straining against the laces of his breeches, but another, more powerful part of him relishes the feel of her lips tongue upon his skin. “You’re a good brother,” she says softly.

He chuckles. “No. I am a terrible brother. But I am also a most excellent lover.” She shakes her head, and once more he can almost picture her rolling her eyes; the image brings a low laugh from deep in his chest. 

A moment of comfortable silence settles ‘tween them then; the only sound filling the room is that of Cersei’s breathing, slowly returning to a slow, relaxed pace. She flips ‘round in his arms to face him, cupping the side of his face with a warm, slender hand and kissing him deeply. He can’t help it; he groans wantonly into her mouth, grinding his hips against her thigh. He feels her mouth curve up into a smile against his. “You want me, brother.”

“I do,” Jaime admits. “But I can wait; tonight, it is your pleasure that matters most.”

“Perhaps I want you too,” she whispers, as if it is a secret of the highest importance. She reaches down, deftly unlaces his breeches, and pulls his throbbing cock out of them with a gentle caress. One leg hooks over his hip, drawing him in close; she wastes no time in guiding him inside her, bringing forth a pleasured hiss from his lips.

Cersei kisses the tip of his nose, then his mouth, rolling her hips as he thrusts up into her. She holds him close, pushing her breasts against his chest; he vaguely wishes they were unclothed, nothing to separate their bodies, but cannot bring himself to care too much because of how tight and warm and familiar she is and how wonderful it is to know that mere moments ago, she was angry, but now her leg is hooked ‘round his hip like she won’t ever let him go.

His peak comes quick — unsurprising, considering how achingly he has wanted her all night — and he buries his face in her shoulder to conceal his moans as he spills inside of her. The feel of his hot seed sends her over the edge for the second time, bucking wildly against him with fast, panting breaths.

When he pulls out, he presses a kiss to her forehead and rolls onto his back. She scoots against him, legs entwining with his own, head now rested ‘tween his shoulder and chest. “I love you,” he whispers. “And, truly: I am sorry.”

Cersei looks up at him with the faintest of smiles painted across her lips. “I love you, too. And, believe me: I can tell.”


	2. don't tell me it's not about freedom, no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one with crossdressing / dirty talk!

Perhaps she does not look as imposing as she would have liked, but that does little to shrink the smile that spreads over Cersei’s lips when she catches sight of herself in the looking glass. Jaime’s shirt is far too long on her, but no one could tell with it tucked into the breeches she borrowed — those, too, are too long, but the effect is similarly diminished by their being covered by the tops of boots. ( She wears her own, a pair usually saved for riding; Jaime’s proved much too big, clunky on her feet. ) With hair pulled back into a simple low bun at the nape of her neck, the angles of her face call to mind those of her twin’s, more androgynous than they typically appear when framed artfully by her curls. 

She is no longer beautiful. She is handsome. A golden god; a warrior carved from marble, immortalized in art.

She turns reluctantly away from her reflection only to find another similar image lounging on her bed. That smile breaks into a grin. Her twin has humored her. After much grumbling, yes, but he has done it all the same. 

Jaime wears a gown made preemptively for her first, and hopefully soon to come, pregnancy: emerald-hued silk cut loosely to allow for an expanding belly ( or broad shoulders and chest ) with a lengthy train to accommodate a wider ( or taller ) form. Pale lace and jewels dotted here and there embellish the sleeves, the hem; a gold belt nips in his waist, lending him a shape far more feminine than the armor he favors. Cersei took it upon herself earlier in the evening to plait two sections of his hair at the front and pin them back with emerald- and sapphire-encrusted combs, to dab berry juice upon his lips and pinch a rosy glow into his cheeks. She wonders, as she drinks in the sight of him, if others see her as she sees him now: unfamiliar, unearthly, utterly beautiful.

“You cut an intimidating figure, sister,” he says with a cheeky grin as she strides toward him at last, pausing at the edge of the mattress to discard the belt with sword and scabbard attached upon a nearby chair ( Jaime had argued that, since the weaponry would be coming off anyway, it was unnecessary; Cersei retorted that the illusion would not be complete without it. )

“Brother,” she corrects him, though it is accompanied by a pleased flush creeping o’er her cheeks. “I am the brother; you are the sister.”

“Forgive me, brother,” says Jaime, and though he rolls his eyes, Cersei catches the blush mirroring her own upon his face. “’Tis hard to get used to.”

“Yes, well, it’s only for tonight,” says Cersei. Hands brace upon his shoulders, paying more attention to the soft, silky fabric covering them than their strength, their breadth, and push him back ’til he lays supine on the mattress. She crawls atop him, a lion playing with its prey, and pauses with mouth hovering just over his own. Fingers trail over the curve of his cheek, his exposed collarbone. “And what a pretty sister you are.”

Further resistance is futile; no reason not to indulge the urge to kiss him, tease him ’til he’s whimpering for her like a maiden soon to be deflowered. Lips crash hard onto lips, tongue flicking into his mouth, tasting the sweet berry juice giving that lovely rouged color. A content little moan escapes from her lips to his as body stretches languidly on top of him, chest against chest, legs entwined with legs. She has not the height nor the breadth to cover him completely the way he does her, but hopes the ferocity of her lust gives the same effect. You belong to me, she thinks. You are completely and utterly mine.

A trail of kisses presses firm from lips to jaw, jaw to neck, neck to ear; Cersei’s teeth nibble on the soft skin there, and when Jaime’s breath hitches in pleasure beneath her, she smiles. “Tell me you want me,” she breathes. The flesh ‘neath her mouth raises into goosebumps, and her smile grows wider still.

“I want you,” says Jaime, ever-obedient, shifting his weight under her to increase the friction between her body and the quickly-growing stiffness of his cock under that silken gown. 

But Cersei needs more before she will indulge him.

She catches his wrist in her own hand as it seeks to move between them, holding it over his head, keeping him prisoner beneath her. The hungry look in his eyes is enough to bring up a mirrored one in her own, but she can hold out a little longer. “Tell me what you want from me, my love,” she murmurs almost tenderly. 

Often, she is as fierce in bed as she is out of it, merciless in her quest for exactly what she desires… but just now, she is able to savor the foreign feel of his clothing on her body, the power she holds over their every move. Oh, he could reclaim it if he wished. She knows that very well, has experienced half a hundred times an impatient brother tossing her, shrieking and laughing, o’er his shoulder — but that he does not ( this time, at least ) speaks volumes, fills her heart with love so potent she fears there might be more of it than she knows what to do with.

Jaime seems to have an idea, though; every tensed muscle in his body, focused facet to the expression on his face seems intent on achieving the goal of their bodies joined together once more. “I want you, sweet brother, to fuck me until I cannot keep from screaming your name. To make me shiver and shake and tremble and lose control of my body for you. I want to be yours,” he adds, and perhaps it is just the way his voice hitches when so heady with lust, but Cersei thinks maybe he has pitched his tone just a little higher to play his part that much more thoroughly.

His hands are braced on her thighs as he speaks, thumbs rubbing the soft contours of her muscles through her trousers, but as his voice quiets and gaze travels over her body to meet hers once more, one of those hands moves ‘tween her legs to paw at her the way she’s pawed at his cock so many times before. It feels different, she imagines, but no less sweet; hips rock into his grip, the palm of his hand centered just over the area of that bundle of nerves so receptive to touch. He grins at her noticeable reaction, and while she has half a mind to withdraw, to tease him still further, her body screams at her to give in at last.

Were she a man in true, she’d fuck him fully clothed. Unfortunately, that is not an option; she huffs in irritation as she climbs off him, kicks off her boots, and removes the breeches she has come to view as a second skin. The shirt will stay on, though. And everything Jaime wears will remain on him, too.

She reclaims her position atop him as soon as possible, crushing their lips together in another starving kiss as bodies press flush like puzzle pieces. Deft hands work his skirts out from ‘neath her, revealing his cock ( oh, it looked pretty tenting the silk of her gown, but would do her no use covered up like that ), grasping it firm by the base as she slides the head of him ‘tween wet pink lips.

“Say it again, sister,” she mouths against his jaw.

“I want you.”

And she does not wait any longer to sink down onto him, head tipped back with a satisfied groan at the way he fills her up. Arms entangle, holding each other so close it is hard to tell where one ends and the other begins; Cersei strikes up a hard, fast rhythm, each stroke bringing them closer and closer together, closer and closer to their mutual pleasure. Jaime’s hips buck against hers ferociously — she wonders if, perhaps, he is not enjoying their play a little more than he lets on.

His arms snake around her, holding her close enough that she can feel his heart pumping beneath his ribcage near to her own, and he captures her lips in a hot kiss broken only to allow gasped breaths and moans of bliss. “Oh, yes,” he breathes as she comes down on him particularly hard. “Oh, fuck — yes, yes, Cer—“

The reverent way he says her name is cut off halfway by his peak, bringing him to shudder hard against her as he spills his seed. And it is cut off just perfectly — it sounds just as if he’s called her “Ser”.

A surge of heat ripples through her and she knows she, too, is close. She does not let him pull out of her just yet, no; one hand snakes ‘tween their bodies down to where they are joined, fingers rubbing quick circles over the bundle of nerves now so receptive, so sensitive. And when her climax overtakes her, it’s white-hot and blinding: starts in her cunt, bringing forth a wave of juices ‘round her twin’s cock, then moves through her legs, her belly, ’til every nerve she possesses is set afire.

When she comes down, it is with her forehead rested upon Jaime’s, hands braced upon his shoulders to keep him close. Once more, they kiss — a longer, sweeter, satisfied kiss this time. He rubs circles into the small of her back as she gives a content little hum, glad to have the warmth and solidity of his body so close.

“I thought I would never like anything better than my sweet sister,” says Jaime, glancing down at her with mischief in his eyes. “But I think this new twin brother of mine — he’s got a piece of my heart, too.”


	3. i want to make you see that it tastes so sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one with face-sitting!

“Tell me what happened.”

As Cersei brushes out her hair, Jaime rubs her shoulders, thumbs massaging the tension out of knotted muscles. The sight of her like this, ready to retire to bed for the night in a silken nightgown lined with lace, freshly-combed curls spilling over her shoulders, is more than enough to make him yearn for contact beyond hands on upper back, but she is in no mood for it. Not yet, at least.

“It wasn’t just one thing,” she sighs, setting the gold-handled hairbrush down upon her vanity table and turning to face him. “’Twas the entire day, starting as a molehill and ending as a mountain. Between the veritable ocean of people I entertained an audience with, Robert’s behavior, deplorable as usual, and this headache that has been pounding at my temples all day, I am simply…stressed.”

He can see it in her eyes, the slight crease ‘tween furrowed brows, the way she carries herself with muscles taut like a lioness ready to pounce. When she stands, Jaime draws her into his arms. He plants a gentle kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the scent of the floral oil she combs through her hair after each wash, and keeps her close as he speaks. “’Tis the price of your title, I’m afraid.”

An irritable huff escapes Cersei’s parted lips; her body shudders against him as it leaves her lungs. “I love sitting upon the throne, yet I cannot help but wish it was more comfortable.”

An idea occurs to him then, something he overheard another knight talking about but has yet to try for himself. Their embrace breaks, and he pulls back slightly, gaze moving down to meet her own. The mischief of his plan must be evident in his eyes, because Cersei raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What have you planned, brother?”

“Come here.” Jaime takes her by the hand, leads her to the side of the bed before hopping onto the mattress himself. He lays flat, head propped on a single pillow, and grins up at his sweet, stressed sister. “I’ve a more agreeable throne for you to sit.”

“What—“ she begins, but ‘tween his words, the glimmer in his eyes, and the sight of his rapidly-stiffening cock straining against the laces of his breeches, Cersei is quick to understand. “Please. You’ll suffocate.”

“I won’t,” he protests. “Other men have done the same and come out alive. Now, get up here — I want to taste you.”

Of course, he has pleasured her with his mouth before, but never like this: never with her thighs on either side of his head, her sex pushed hard against his mouth, her body atop him, controlling his every move. The mere notion is enough to send a rush of arousal straight to his groin, and when Cersei finally makes her move, hesitantly climbing onto the bed and rising to her knees beside his head, he groans impatiently and grabs at one of her thighs. “Take off your nightgown, my love. I want to see you.”

That, she does not hesitate in doing, discarding the garment on the plush rug next to the bed. Jaime watches appreciatively, drinking in the sight of those full breasts topped with pert, rosy nipples, the smooth, pale expanse of her belly, the breadth of her hips and tone of her thighs. He cannot help but move a hand ‘tween his legs, giving his cock a squeeze to take off the edge of his pressing arousal. “Now, then,” he breathes.

Cersei lets his hand guide one thigh over his face, settling her weight evenly between her knees. One hand lies flat upon the bed’s headboard while the other grasps the top of it; he notices how firm her grip is, wonders if she is a little more eager for this than she shows. That, he thinks, is Cersei’s way: cool and collected until his ministrations make it impossible to continue in that fashion, and then a feral, carnivorous predator, all lusty moans and writhing hips and pleasure-seeking. Driving her to that point ranks among his favorite pastimes. He is eager to do it now.

This close, he can see every petal-like fold of her sex, the thatch of soft gold hair over it, smell her sweet, salty, musky scent. A content moan forms at the base of his throat as he presses a kiss to the bundle of nerves at the front of her cunt; she makes no sound in reaction, but he can feel the muscles of her thighs stiffen under his hands, and that’s enough of a sign for him to continue.

He gives her a long, precursory lick from her opening to her pubic bone, hands sliding up from her thighs to cup her firm, round arse. Cersei gasps softly, hips rolling to push herself closer to him. “More,” she demands, and when has Jaime ever been one to deny his sister?

His tongue works ‘round her entrance until she’s dripping wet, juices sweet as they run into his mouth, coat his lips; this, he thinks, is better than the finest wine, more intoxicating than the strongest ale. Attention moves to her sensitive nub soon after, licking circles around it, sucking gently when she moans to bring forth more of those delicious noises from her.

“Jaime,” she half-gasps, half-groans, and hearing his name like that is enough to make him roll his hips, searching desperately for some semblance of friction from his breeches. It isn’t his own satisfaction he’s occupied with at the moment, though. 

One hand moves down her arse, tracing the cleft ‘tween her cheeks until he reaches her entrance. She bucks and rolls against his fingers; he smiles against her sex. As he sucks at her bundle of nerves, teeth scraping over it just hard enough to bring forth a sharp gasp, he teases her with first one, then two fingers. The position is a little awkward, but her reaction makes it more than worth it.

Control slips from her quickly as her arousal builds; soon, he has her bucking her hips, grinding herself down upon him, and he thinks if he did suffocate like she feared before, it would be the best possible way to go. He slips a finger inside her, rubbing against her slick walls, and she throws her head back and gives a lust-filled moan. “Oh, Jaime — I’m close.”

One more finger joins the one inside her, and Jaime increases the friction of his tongue, the suction of his lips, lapping at her as thirstily as if he has had naught to drink for days. She grinds harder against him, each breath now bringing a little gasp with it — and then she whimpers his name, body trembling uncontrollably, weight collapsing against the headboard. He keeps working though her peak, keeping her pleasure as powerful as he can, lapping up the wave of juices from her cunt hungrily, savoring the taste of her upon his tongue.

When she finishes, she dismounts, sitting crosslegged on the bed beside him to rest against the pile of pillows behind them. He sits up as well, leaning over to kiss her long and deep, hoping she can taste herself on him. She moans into his mouth; he thinks, indeed, she can. 

“A better end to your bad day?” he asks, nuzzling into her neck.

Cersei laughs, the fingers of one hand combing through his hair while the other moves down between his legs. “So it was,” she chuckles. “Now, let’s take care of you.”


	4. three, four, on the floor, i have never wanted more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one with pegging! ( I headcanon that this is Cersei's favorite kink of all time. Her introduction to it certainly doesn't disappoint. )

“No.”

The reaction is an instinctual one, not much thought put into it. Still, as Cersei dangles the ivory-carved cock, decorated with gold, in front of his face, Jaime’s frown only deepens. “Why?” he asks, running a hand through hair already mussed from feverish, passionate kissing, rolling ‘round on Cersei’s featherbed.

“They say there’s a place inside a man that holds the same sort of pleasure as the little button at the front of my cunt,” she explains, impatiently sitting up next to him. “I want to find it. I want you to know what it feels like when you touch me there. And,” she adds, as if an afterthought, “you know I’ve always thought this world treats women rather unfairly. One step closer to the respect I deserve.”

Jaime cannot help but laugh. “In addition to commanding my arse, you intend to command my respect as well?”

“I already do command your respect, do I not?” Quirks a brow at him, daring him to disagree. A beat of silence passes; Cersei drops the toy beside them on the bed and cups his face with both hands. “Listen. If you hate it, I’ll stop — but you might just love it. Let me try, at least.”

He never could say no to her.

Already they’re naked, clothes torn off in fits of passion, of lust, of desperation, and Cersei gives a satisfied smile at his reluctant nod of approval as she stands and works the leather harness that will hold the cock in place against her up over her thighs. Buckles the waist strap behind her with the dexterity that could only come from years of unlacing ties and undoing buttons on the back of her dress on her own. Catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror ‘cross the room and grins, leonine. “Seven hells. I would look good, were I in possession of a cock in true.”

“You’d look good no matter what,” Jaime says, pressing a kiss to her jawline as he stands to join her. Looking into her face brings the same familiar pleasure; looking down at the toy jutting from her pelvis combines it with apprehension. “It will hurt.”

“It won’t,” she counters. “I hear the best way to start something like this is to start with fingers, all slicked up with plenty of oil.”

Jaime almost questions where she hears these salacious tales from, but instead sighs, runs hand through hair again. “All right. Tell me, then: what should I do?”

“You,” says Cersei, opening the drawer of her bedside table and procuring a vial of aforementioned oil — where does she get these things? Jaime wonders — “should bend over the side of the bed. I’ll take it from here.”

He does so, albeit hesitantly, eyes on her the entire time as she spills the oil o’er her hand, working it ‘tween slender fingers. He silently thanks the Seven she prefers keeping fingernails short and neat. She moves up behind him, lays the dry hand on his shoulder — a gesture that serves, somehow, to reassure, to relax him. “Good,” she purrs into his ear. “You must relax. Relaxing is key.”

Trails first a line down his spine with two fingers, leading him to shiver — then reaches the cleft of his arse, pushing down ’til she finds his opening. “Ready?” she whispers into his ear, hot, wine-sweet breath making his cock twitch in spite of himself.

“As I’ll ever be,” he grunts, and prepares for the worst.

Yet, when she cautiously slides one finger into the tight ring of muscle it previously teased, it’s far from the worst. Not bad at all, really, once he recalls her advice and relaxed from the instinctual tightening of muscles he felt at first. Cersei works slowly, careful to watch his expression for any signs of discomfort. Even when he is at her mercy, she ensures she causes him no pain.

Unless he wants the pain. Then, she doles it out with relish.

Once he’s unwound enough to breathe a sigh of something like pleasure, to push himself back against her, she inserts another finger, and Jaime realizes the full feeling is pleasurable in a strange way. Wonders if this is how she feels with his fingers inside her, if she feels just as filled up and whole as he does now.

Cersei hums, indulgence and anticipation all in one, as fingers work gently in and out of him — then a little faster, a little harder, a little deeper, until Jaime realizes his cock is fully upright, ready for more. 

“Ready,” he manages through the tightness of his throat, and Cersei gives a low chuckle as she pulls her fingers out of him ( and should he miss the feeling of them so much? ) and spills the oil over the length of her toy, ensuring it’s slick and wet before positioning its tip at his entrance.

“And you’re certain?” she asks.

“I am.” Swallows hard; clenches the sheets ‘neath his hands in preparation. She moves slowly, pushing into him little by little, moving one hand from its grip upon his hip to give his cock a few teasing strokes, bringing a low groan from deep in his chest. 

She leans in, then, close to his ear as she can reach as she bends him further o’er the bed. “I,” she breathes, “am going to fuck you so well you’ll have trouble walking tomorrow.”

“At your pleasure.” ’Tis all he can think to say, his mind so otherwise occupied. Pushes back against her in hopes of driving that ivory cock deeper — curiosity, mainly, his motivation.

As always, Cersei starts slow and careful, but it does not last long; animal instincts take over until she is a lion taking his mate, hips thrusting hard and fast against him. Jaime is somewhat surprised to find he doesn’t mind — not one bit. Surprised to find himself whimpering with each thrust, biting his lip to keep from crying out, and not from pain or discomfort.

And then she angles her hips just the right way, and he does cry her name then, grip tightening on the bedclothes ‘neath him. He’s rock hard now, leaking precum from his swollen, throbbing tip, and wants to touch himself but would never dare unless sweet sister allowed it. “Cersei,” he stutters out, half-gasping. “Oh, Cersei.”

He cannot see it, but she grins. “Yes, sweetling?”

“Touch me.” Cannot manage other words with the white-hot pleasure taking over his entire form. He’s close, so close he’s almost certain the mere brush of her hand will send him over the edge.

And he is not far off the mark — two strokes from her soft, expert fingers, and he’s moaning in ecstasy, his seed spilling over her hand, the bed beneath them. Cersei groans too, lifting her fingers to his lips, and knowing just what she wants, he licks them clean of his fluids; perhaps would be put off if it were anyone else asking it of him, anyone but his sweet sister, anyone but Cersei. Instead, it only serves to arouse.

She takes her time pulling out of him, and once he’s empty ( what a disappointment, after the bliss before ), he leans forth onto his elbows on the bed, catching his breath. Cersei works the harness undone and tosses the toy to the ground to be cleaned later. Sits on the bed and pulls him close to her, bodies entangled — a bystander would not be able to tell where one twin ends and the other begins. Moves his hand between her legs — seven Hells, he does not think he’s ever felt her so wet.

“Which of us liked it more?” he wonders aloud, bringing a chuckle from her lips as she kisses him hard, passionate, tongue on tongue and teeth on teeth. She wraps her arms ‘round his middle, pulling his weight down on top of her. 

“We shall have plenty of time to run further experiments to find out, I believe,” she purrs — and oh, how right she is.


	5. you drew the lines so well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise bitches, I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me! :P I've been busy with other writing endeavors for a while, but I'd NEVER abandon this little project of mine. Anyway, this is the chapter with scratching and biting and general marking-as-Cersei's-own. Enjoy!

Jaime has been sparring with the other knights and their squires well into the evening hours, and Cersei knows what that means: when he comes to her, he will be slick with sweat, breathing hard, and full of fire in his blood. She is ready for him. Likes him this way, ready to fight for dominance in the bedchamber much as he has just done on the training field. Chooses a plain nightdress that, whilst flattering in cut and half-sheer due to its pale color, she would not mind being ripped or torn, and brushes her hair out — easier to tangle fingers up into.

And when her twin arrives in her bedchamber, as they’d planned earlier in the day, he does not disappoint: shirt half-undone; hair flopping forward into his face, constantly being pushed back; hunger in his eyes. “Cersei,” he breathes, but says no more, opting instead to bar the door behind him, kick off his boots, and sweep her into his arms, bringing a sharp, delighted gasp from her lips. 

He tosses her onto the featherbed and crawls, leonine, atop her; his lips crush themselves against her own, a kiss she returns with equal fervor. No care for delicacy or decorum tonight: this is a messy kiss, a sloppy kiss, tongues fighting for dominance and tasting every available inch of the opposite mouth. Cersei slips her arms around him, deftly untucking his shirt from his breeches and wrestling it off his body. 

Even in the dim, flickering candlelight, he looks every inch the Warrior made flesh, lean and strong, pawing at the neckline of her nightdress. “Tear it off,” she challenges, chin jutting forth as she grins, licks her lips; Jaime doesn’t hesitate in doing so, a rip straight down the center of the fabric, purposefully made. The display of the strength of his hands sends a rush of arousal straight to her cunt. She leans up to reclaim his mouth with her own, moaning his name against his lips when his hands cup and squeeze her breasts, then wraps her arms back ‘round him and digs her fingernails into his shoulderblades. 

That makes _him_ moan, and the delectable sound turns into a whimper when she scrapes her nails down his back; he grinds his erection against her thigh through his breeches, and when she repeats the motion with her hands, gasps against the crook of her neck. 

“You like my claws?” she asks playfully, disentangling herself from him to push him down onto his belly. This serves a dual purpose: as he groans his assent, she’s able to admire the pink lines she left in the flesh of his broad, muscled back, and able to rid him of his breeches and smallclothes besides. With that done, both of them naked now, she straddles his waist, and when he glances back to see what she’s doing she guides his head back down to rest upon his crossed arms before him.

“Cersei’s,” she says breathlessly, fingers scratching her name into his skin — not so deep that it will remain long, but deep enough that she’ll be able to see it the next morning. Her looping script now covers the breadth of his shoulders, and with each letter scratched in she feels him undulating beneath her, whining the way he only does when she works him up into this desperate sort of arousal.

It comes as no surprise when, as soon as she’s finished marking him as her own, he grabs her by the thigh (fingers digging deep enough to leave soft bruises; fair enough, she thinks) and uses it as leverage to flip her onto her back once more. She grins up at him as he pushes his hips against hers, the head of his throbbing cock teasing between her slick pink lips. “You’re mine now. Officially. A document signed by the queen herself. Shall I melt some wax on you to _seal_ it with?”

It’s tempting. She can see that much in the darkening of his eyes. But more tempting still, it seems, is to drive his cock hard and deep inside of her — surprising her enough to bring a gasp from parted, kiss-swollen lips — and press his body near-flush to hers, one hand groping at her breast. “Seal it with a kiss,” he offers instead, brushing the tip of her nose with his, and she obliges with the same heated passion as their kisses before as he pumps in and out of her.

Legs wrap ‘round his waist, driving him deeper, and the purring moans he makes as they move together bring a smile to her lips against his. When she breaks their kiss, it’s only to pepper his neck with the same, then to move across his shoulder and bite down hard enough to leave a bruise. That will last longer than the scratches on his back, but is easily explained away by his training; with that knowledge, she leaves more across his chest, even daring to drag her teeth across his collarbone. Each bite and nibble serves to increase the pace of his thrusts, and soon he’s bucking so hard into her that she knows his climax is close.

“Inside me,” she manages through panting breaths, legs locking tighter around his waist to keep him in place. “I want to feel it inside me.”

And it seems Jaime is more than happy to oblige, as only seconds later his hips have stilled as his pleasure peaks with a deep groan of her name and the feel of his hot, sticky seed spilling into her. He remains inside her even after, one hand snaking between them to rub at her cunt as her hips rock against his fingers, and soon she’s moaning with each exhale as her climax overtakes her trembling body, a rush of fluid coating his cock, his fingers. When he pulls out at last, he keeps her close, bodies pressed flush together as she sucks his fingers clean then kisses him so deeply she _knows_ he’ll be able to taste her on her own lips.

“You didn’t have to sign your name,” he sighs, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck once more, kissing its tender skin and bringing forth a content hum from her. “I’ve _always_ been yours.”


End file.
